


Slave To Your Games

by LiveSkippy



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Competition, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Hosie, I like sad endings, Murder Mystery, No they dont die, Questionable decisions were made, Slow Burn, yet - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2021-01-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28165470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveSkippy/pseuds/LiveSkippy
Summary: Hope is the bastard daughter of Klaus Mikaelson. Made to believe she is the stain in the bloodline ever since her mother's death; a mistake, and nothing more.Josie is the golden daughter. She sits pretty and quiet as her father, the sheriff, drinks himself to sleep every night. Perhaps, if she was something more, she could pull him out of his sorrows.Then CEO Mikael Ivarsson is found dead in his office and Mystic Falls is thrust into chaos. Hope and Josie's world hangs by a thread:They can be each other's salvation or destruction.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Josie Saltzman
Comments: 27
Kudos: 69
Collections: Going_classic_favorite, going_classic TVD favorites





	1. Not a Queendom

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm so excited to finally share this work. This is my first time posting on Ao3, but I have another Hosie story on Wattpad if you'd like to check it out.  
> Anyway, I like to start my stories with a lil' spice. Enjoy ;)

The tenth ring of Hell is retail.

Lizzie Saltzman will attest to it.

“Do you have this in my size?” The young girl held up a piece of clothing the store insisted on calling a crop top (it was too promiscuous, even for Lizzie’s taste).

“No. Everything we have is on the rack.”

This was true. Cinderella’s, as the only boutique in town that sold something other than Victorian garments, was a popular shop. Especially at the beginning of summer when teenagers were hungry for a new wardrobe. It was the busiest time of the year, so to save themselves the struggle, they crammed all their inventory on the shelves.

This girl, Kayla or Kendall, if Lizzie recalled, clearly had never worked a day in her life.

“Don’t be lazy and go check the back. I know that’s where you put the best clothes.” She shot a mischievous smile to the flock of girls all eighth-graders traveled in.

Lizzie gritted her teeth. The urge to pull Kimberly’s hair made her fingers twitch.

Josie was the one who dealt with these people. Not her. But of course, her dear sister scurried off with Madam President Kym and left her alone.

She couldn’t fight another customer. Caroline would kill her.

Lizzie plastered her best customer service smile on, “Certainly, silly me. Did you say you needed a large?”

Karla turned beet red as her friends erupted in laughter, “I—No! A small. I need a small.”

A satisfied smirk spread on Lizzie’s face as she made her way to the break room. At least she could get a breather from the chaos outside.

The room was small, with a single window; but after Lizzie and Caroline’s combined design prowess it became their sanctuary. The kitchenette in the far wall was cozy, forever humming a warm melody that felt like home. Sometimes they cooked their lunches there if the day was slow enough. Bright couches livened the space, their color matching the lockers on the opposite wall. Lizzie’s favorite part was the plush lounger next to the lockers where she napped before her shifts.

She flopped on the lounger. Her limbs melted into it, drained of energy despite only two hours of work. She never signed up to deal with god-awful customers, however nice the cash bonus may be.

From the other side of the door, the muffled buzz of people continued. She reached for the remote of the small TV they had atop the fridge and turned it on. She didn’t care what channel it was on, she just wanted to drown the painful shrill of middle schoolers.

She draped an arm over her eyes and sighed. The news hummed in the background:

_Breaking News: Louisiana magnate Mikael Ivarsson has been found dead in his Mystic Falls summer house. Ivarsson hosted a gala the night before to celebrate the approval of his new project, Tribrid Enterprise. As of yet, little is known of his death, but witnesses report he looked healthy as ever at the party. His son, Niklaus Mikaelson, has—_

A loud clatter jerked Lizzie upright.

She rushed through the door and nearly jumped over the counter.

Kourtney and a ginger girl from her flock tugged on the same crop top, the rack laid forgotten on the ground, clothes strewn across the tile.

“I saw it first, you bitch!”

“You don’t have the boobs to pull it off.”

The rest of the patrons retreated to the other side of the shop; the girls were seconds away from lunging at each other—

Lizzie pushed them apart, “If you gremlins don’t stop this nonsense I’ll personally ban you from the store for life!”

Her head throbbed, all she wanted was to clock out and tan in MG’s pool.

She underestimated the united rage of two middle school girls.

“Excuse me?” Ginger’s hold on the top twisted into a viper grip, “You can’t talk to us like that!”

Lizzie finally registered her words, and she knew Caroline would behead her.

“You aren’t even doing your job.” Kelly pointed an accusatory finger at Lizzie, “Where’s the size small I asked for forever ago?”

Lizzie’s hands balled in a fist; she opened her mouth to spit fire when a hurried voice interrupted.

“Hi, ladies. What seems to be the problem?”

Enter Josie Saltzman: saleswoman extraordinaire.

She was still clad in her business outfit from the morning—a pastel pink blouse with white pants and flats. She looked professional, and it was that same impression that let her place herself between the girls and Lizzie without trouble. Smart choice.

Keira tugged one more time on the top, successfully stripping it from Ginger’s claws, “I asked your friend here for this top in a size small. Which, by the way, she never got.”

Oh, that pesky little shit.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have any more tops in that style.” The sincerity dripping from Josie’s voice made Lizzie want to gag.

“But…” Josie slowly wriggled the shirt from Keagan’s grasp, “we also offer tailoring services. If you want, we can resize this medium to fit you perfectly. Even better than a small.”

She draped the top over the girl’s chest as if eye-balling her measurements, “This color would look lovely with your complexion.”

And like every other volatile customer, Kendra melted under Josie’s charm.

“Tailored, you say?” She drawled with elation shining in her eyes. Probably already thinking about bragging to the rest of her snakes how her top is custom fit.

“With 50% discount.” Josie nodded, “As an apology for the inconvenience.”

Lizzie tried to catch Josie’s eye, panicked, but her twin refused to look in her direction.

Lizzie was the dressmaker; she measured and sewed most of the clothes they used for Cinderella’s fashion shows. It was her passion, and she took great pride in her talent.

But using her genius on the hellish rascal? Not in a million fucking years.

Sensing her reluctance, Josie ushered Kate away.

“Please, follow the signs to the dressing room. I’ll be with you shortly.”

The goblin disappeared behind the curtain. Lizzie was just breathing a little easier when Josie grabbed her arm and whispered to her, “Just stand guard at the cashier. I’ll handle her.”

Lizzie gratefully sneaked behind Josie and away from the eighth-grade vultures. She’d never been so happy to be behind the counter.

The bustle in the boutique returned. At least the rest of the customers were intelligent enough to shop on their own.

She sat back on the stool with a huff. First item on her list was killing Josie for leaving her for so long. She said it would only be an hour while Kym and she closed off extracurricular activities for the summer. Knowing her, she agreed to some unforeseen favor the principal or a teacher asked.

Damn Josie’s golden heart.

Or perhaps, this was the opportunity she was waiting for to rope her sister into tonight’s party.

Distantly, she heard the chime of the doorbell.

She was too busy picking at her nails. She needed to re-do her blue polish ASAP—it would be a crime to start the summer with a chipped manicure.

Someone cleared their throat and Lizzie suppressed a groan. She took in a composing breath and lifted her head.

“Hi, welcome to Cinderella’s. How may I help you?”

A girl with copper hair and the bone structure of a model greeted her. For a second, Lizzie wondered if she was one of Caroline’s new recruits for the annual fashion show. She definitely exuded the effortless confidence Caroline loved. But the cold indifference in her steel blue eyes told her otherwise.

“Thank you, I saw you have a tailor.” She vaguely gestured to the sign hung outside.

For the first time, Lizzie noticed the beautiful maroon dress the girl carried in her arms. It was her nature to reach out to the material—smooth silk embossed over expensive chiffon. Lizzie had never seen such high quality in Mystic Falls.

Bronzy laid the dress on the counter and Lizzie gasped.

A sinful tear stretched from the hemline until the hip stitch. Although thigh-slits were one of Lizzie’s favorite cuts, the shape of the dress was not made for one. She stroked the frayed threads reverently, what kind of monster dared do this to such a masterpiece?

No worries. Lizzie would restore its glory.

“Yeah, we fix the unfixable, too.” She smirked.

Her eyes trailed back to the dress, stopping on the hideous ring on Bronzy’s finger. It was a large silver band that looked straight out of a medieval storybook. The girl pulled her hand away.

“Great. I would hate to throw it away.”

Lizzie snatched the dress from her, “How could anyone throw away this Venus dream?”

“Be careful with it!” The tremble in the girl’s voice took Lizzie aback. She cleared her throat, and any emotion drained once more from her face, “Just don’t make it worse. I’m only here because this is the only semi-decent boutique in town.”

Rude, much.

Bronzy turned on her heel for the exit.

“Hey!” Lizzie called, “I need a name for the dress.”

The girl stopped, turning slightly back, “Marshall,” she said, “Hope Marshall.”

Lizzie jotted it down on a notepad. Marshall… it sounded familiar.

“I’ll be back in three days!” Bronzy threw over her shoulder. And then, she was gone.

Lizzie’s temper was only smothered by the cool fabric of the dress. She hung it carefully on the rack behind the counter they kept for returned items. The owner was a vixen, but the dress was magnificent, and Lizzie would treat it with the respect it deserved.

===============

Kristen exited the dressing room; her arrogant smirk itched a trigger Lizzie didn’t know she had. She skipped over the fallen rack to her flock of vultures.

Lizzie was concocting a revenge scheme when Josie appeared next to her. She sighed, and judging by the droop of her lips, Karen was difficult to deal with even for her.

“Do you think MG will help us if we ask nicely?” Lizzie tried to liven the mood.

Josie leaned against the counter, vaguely eyeing the rack of clothes they still had to clean, “MG would rather drink one of Rafael’s raw egg shakes than help us again.”

Lizzie snorted, recalling the door incident of two years ago.

A woman with about sixty tattoos walked up to the register.

“Go change before Caroline scolds us again for breaking the dress code.” Lizzie nudged Josie towards the break room.

Her sister peeled herself away with the speed of a snail.

Lizzie rang the woman up, making small talk around her tattoos. She praised the lady’s taste—light-colored jumpsuits were very popular this season—and recommended their original collection of stamped bucket hats as a must-have accessory.

She knew her fashion, she just hated the customer service part.

As she wished the woman a nice day, Josie bounced back. Her presidential fit, as Lizzie liked to call it, was replaced by the dark blue polo and white shorts they called a uniform. Caroline just wanted them to match during work hours.

“How bad has it been?” Josie probed. Lizzie is quick to catch her hesitation.

She _should_ be scared.

“Hellish gremlin over there is the third fight of the day.”

Josie elbowed her ribs; Lizzie was not subtle at all. It’s not like she wanted to be.

“I mean, if the girl whose job is to make the customers happy was here when she promised, our record would’ve continued ‘183 Days Without a Cat Fight’.” Lizzie retorted.

“That’s your job, too. You’re a retailer as much as I am.” Josie began punching prices on tags.

“My job is to make fabulous clothes and look hot doing it. Yours is to hold off the gates to my queendom.”

Then, another thought popped in Lizzie’s mind, “What took you so long with Kym, anyway?”

Josie shrugged, “Mr. Williams asked if I could help him organize some library archives.”

And Lizzie is proven right once more.

“God, you’re the student body secretary, don’t you have someone to do that for you? Wade practically worships you. He could’ve done it.”

Josie shook her head, “I’m not using Wade. Besides, it wasn’t bad. I finished fast.”

“Yeah, and left me here alone,” Lizzie scoffed, “Now you owe me.”

Josie remained silent for a moment, “I’m sorry.” She said at last.

She was facing away from Lizzie, fidgeting with the price tags, but the guilt seeped into her shoulders.

This was her chance.

“Remember the meet I talked about last week?” Josie froze. Lizzie smirked, “I’ll forgive you if you come with me.”

Josie trained her eyes on the customers still browsing the shelves. Lizzie knew she had her—Josie hated being on bad terms with her. So, Lizzie sat back and waited for her seeds to bear fruit.

“I already told you I hate getting involved in the stupid rivalry between Mystic Falls High and Salvatore.” Josie grumbled.

For as long as Lizzie could remember, the two schools had been at odds with each other. She didn’t know how it came to be, but she guessed it had something to do with the Wolves’ prejudice that Salvatore students were troubled, spoiled rich kids. And along the way, Salvatore got tired of the jabbing and decided to fight back.

Hence, the Blowout took place every summer—a series of challenges where the two schools put forth their best players to see who was better. It was an excuse to humiliate the other and release tension built up throughout the year. It was reckless and irrational, but it had become tradition.

And Lizzie was dying to meet a certain European student that had just transferred to Mystic Falls High.

“But this is only the first meet. Everybody knows nothing serious happens there.” She pushed. Josie was so close to breaking she could already smell the pinewood of the forest.

Reluctantly, Josie nodded.

Lizzie squealed, attracting wary glances from the patrons. She spun to the rack where she put the maroon dress, “It’s tonight at ten. Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

She walked back to the comfort of the sewing room, ignoring the crestfallen look on Josie’s face.


	2. Not So Status Quo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe the Machados are Hispanic and nobody can take that headcanon from me. 
> 
> Also, the show never gave Sheriff Mac a name, so I have baptized her as Alicia.
> 
> The translation for her part is at the end. 
> 
> Enjoy :)

**_Machado 1:_** _When r u getting here?_

**_Hope:_ ** _When I get there._

**_Machado 1:_ ** _Don’t be a smartass_

**_Machado 1:_ ** _I need to know how long I have to clean my room._

**_Hope:_ ** _Do you ever?_

**_Machado 1:_ ** _I’m trying to grow. Let me fucking grow_

**_Machado 1:_ ** _U still haven’t answered my question_

**_Hope:_ ** _I’m crossing the Tennessee border._

**_Hope:_ ** _So a couple hours._

Hope turned off her phone. It buzzed as more texts came in, but she decided to ignore them.

She opened the door to the Mystic Grill and welcomed the cool gust of air conditioner. Virginia during the summer was a literal oven.

People littered the counter and a few booths, mostly boisterous teenagers still riding the end-of-the-year wave.

Hope walked straight to the chef’s window where Chad, an old friend of hers, beamed upon seeing her.

“If it isn’t lil’ Hops.” He left aside the half-done burger and leaned against the window.

Hope’s jaw ticked at the nickname, but she couldn’t get mad at Chad. This was his way of showing affection, and who was she to judge him on that.

Chad cleaned the dirty plate and cutlery as Hope took a seat on the stool, “My goodness, is it that time of the year already?” He set the plate in the sink.

Hope can’t remember a time when he looked less than fully rested and like he drank three shots of espresso. His blond hair dangled over the red headband he wore during work hours. She thought it looked ridiculous, but the enthusiasm in his eyes prevented her from throwing one of her signature remarks.

She propped her chin on one hand, “Has one year not been enough rest from me?” She joked.

Mystic Falls was her summer escapade, a few months free of the shackles that suffocated her in New Orleans.

Chad shook his head vehemently, almost as if she said something outrageous, “It’s been too long. Nobody else orders peanut butter milkshakes around ‘ere,” he leaned closer, lowering his voice to a gentle whisper, “I have the peanut butter ordered especially for you.”

Hope smiled, genuinely this time, “I appreciate it. Speaking of which, do you mind…?”

Chad tapped the counter, and she guessed she wasn’t the only one who enjoyed peanut butter.

“One peanut butter blast with whipped cream on the bottom coming right up.”

With that, he skipped to the storage.

Hope’s face crept into comfortable indifference. She was running on two mere hours of sleep and was in the mood to stab anyone who crossed her path.

Hopping off the stool, she crossed the restaurant to the dark hallway where the restrooms were hidden. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it. Her eyes stung with lack of sleep but refused to shut close. The same image replayed behind her eyelids, haunting her even while she was awake.

Her phone buzzed non-stop in her pocket. She pulled it out and stared daggers at the person drowning her notifications:

**_Marcel._ **

Her grip weakened, nearly dropping the phone.

She pushed herself to the sink, the beating of her heart overwhelming her ears. An erratic rhythm her breathing soon matched.

She yanked open the faucet and rubbed her hands under the water. Desperation grew in her chest to lather something that wasn’t there.

Her long nails scratched soft skin. Harder. Harder. She was panting now, only the tearing of skin keeping her grounded. All she could see was blue, frigid blue.

A toilet flushed.

Hope’s vision cleared. She blinked once. Twice.

A girl exited the farthest stall. Judging by the wary steps she took towards the sink, Hope guessed she must’ve heard her. She spared a look at Hope, her eyes stalling on her irritated, bleeding hands.

Hope shoved them under the running water—the blood came right off. Then, she glared at the girl through the mirror, daring her to say something.

She pumped hand sanitizer into her palm and scurried out of the restroom.

Hope met her own eyes in the mirror; they were wild, with a ferocity she not often displayed so blatantly.

She closed the faucet and dried her hands with a paper towel. Finally, she combed her fingers through her auburn locks, fixing her mess.

There, she looked untouchable.

With her head held high, she returned to the counter just in time for a milkshake to slide across.

“Thank you,” She reached for her credit card, but Chad stopped her.

“Please, this one’s on me,” He winked at her, “come visit me more often, Marshall.”

With a parting wave, she took a sip of her drink and relished the sweet and salty tingle it left in her mouth. This was one of the things she missed the most while away in New Orleans.

She hesitated to open the door to the tables outside, but she worried her phone would shut down with the number of messages coming in. Gathering every ounce of courage she had, she pushed the door.

Marcel noticed her immediately. The phone in his hands dropped to the table, replaced by the coin he always carried with him. He stared her down, hard.

Was he trying to intimidate her? Two could play that game.

Hope flipped her hair over her shoulder and strutted to his table. She pulled out a chair, taking a sip of her shake as she looked up at Marcel through long lashes. The coin spun faster across his fingers.

She decided to hammer the last nail on his coffin.

She gestured to her drink, “Did you want one?”

The coin stopped, dangling dangerously close to the edge of his ring finger.

“You’re late.”

That was sort of the point, but Hope let him believe she was irresponsible. It didn’t really matter, it’s not like they wouldn’t see each other at home later.

“What are you gonna do, tell my father?” She shrugged.

“Your father has enough to worry about,” Marcel deadpanned. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood for their banter.

The coin began twirling again, this time slower and more controlled. Marcel’s expression sombered, “We talked about this—everybody has a part to play. Even you.”

More like they told her what to do. As they always do.

And as always, she went with it.

She scratched her irritated hands.

“I know, I’m not a moron.”

Her response seemed to calm him down. She knew he was on edge—everybody was.

Most importantly, she didn’t want to push Marcel away from her corner. He was the only person holding her together, however annoying he may be at times.

Hope studied him, from the set of his shoulders to the analytical gaze he swept over her. He stopped on her hands.

“You’re too tense.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

He reached over the table and placed a warm hand on hers. His thumb ran over the tender skin, relaxing Hope’s stiff spine. For a moment, she felt at ease, safely tucked away from the nightmares plaguing her mind. Marcel wouldn’t let her fall apart. For that, she’d be forever grateful.

“Remember: look normal. Fly under the radar. The next couple of weeks will be the hardest with the press hovering over the case. You have to stay strong.”

A lump clogged her words. Instead of risking an embarrassing strangled noise, Hope nodded.

Blending in had never been hard for her. She naturally kept away from the drama, choosing to study the world from the sidelines and move the pieces wherever they benefited her the most.

Now?

She walked with the sensation of being in a dream, like the floor would disappear at any second and she’d drop into the void. Close to waking up yet trapped in her own mind.

She schooled her features into a stoic mask. Enough sentimentalism.

“Don’t worry about me. I won’t fail you.”

Marcel gave her a faint smile, “I know.”

===============

The tan porch was as familiar to Hope as the palm of her hand. The lawn was overgrown, which told her one of the siblings was procrastinating on their chores.

Her bet? Maya.

She hefted the duffel bag over her shoulder and climbed the rickety steps. Even from the outside, she smelled the distinct spice of beef empanadas. Her mouth watered at the thought. The only food she had all day was the peanut butter milkshake.

Her hand knocked on the door.

Shouts came from inside, followed by a loud and painful _thunk_.

Maya jerked the door open with a large grin. Though Hope knew it wasn’t because of her, rather because she beat Ethan to the door. It made her smile, nonetheless.

“Hope!” Maya exhaled, but before she could go in for a hug, Ethan flung her out of the way.

He wrapped his arms around her, nearly squishing her to death.

“You’re here!”

“Yeah, I am,” Hope wheezed out. Despite the black spots clouding her vision, she couldn’t hide the affection in her voice.

Ethan put her down just as Maya growled from the floor.

“What kind of dirty cheat was that?” She tightened her ponytail that had come undone with the impact.

A smug grin appeared on Ethan’s face, but a chastising look from Hope vanished it.

He rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m sorry, sis…” Hope nodded, then Ethan spat: “Sorry you’re so fucking small.”

Maya shot right up, “You annoying bastard, you’ve been insufferable all day. I’m going to cut that pretty hair of yours in your sleep!”

“Children!”

The siblings stepped away from each other. Alicia Machado put a warning hand on each of their shoulders, “This is no way to welcome a visitor.”

They muttered a reluctant apology. Then, Alicia set her hazel eyes on Hope, and her lips quirked up.

“It’s good to see you again, Hope.” She embraced her warmly, very much like Ethan, but without the near-death experience.

“It’s good to be back.” Hope replied, and for the first time that day, a smile lighted her features.

Alicia straightened and gestured to the door, “Please, come in. I was just making empanadas, would you like some?”

Hope nodded excitedly; Alicia’s empanadas were her guilty pleasure. The woman laughed and disappeared into the kitchen.

The Machados’ house was as chaotic as ever—the TV was playing a reality show which no doubt was Maya’s doing. Ethan’s football cleats littered the doorway and soft music came from the kitchen.

Ethan took the duffel bag from her hand and hauled it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. Hope glared at him, receiving a wink in return. He climbed the stairs to put the bag away in Maya’s room.

Whenever she was in Mystic Falls, she was supposed to stay at Marcel’s house. But he knew how important the Machados were to her, so he let her crash at their house most of the time. For the past few years, she packed a second bag she stored in Maya’s room for the summer.

Maya tackled her in a side hug. Hope would’ve buried any other person six feet under for touching her, but her threats never worked on Maya.

“I’m kinda offended I’m the last one to hug you.” She grumbled, “How was your trip?”

Hope shrugged, eyeing the family photos decorating the wall—oh cute, Ethan’s graduation, “Same old. A lot of snacks to deal with Marcel’s road trip games.”

Maya snickered, “It’s been so long since I last saw him.”

“Maybe because the last time he came over you were drooling over him.”

Maya grabbed her shoulders as a serious look crossed her face, “Hope, your guardian is the finest man I’ve ever seen in my life. If he wasn’t in charge of your well-being, I would’ve jumped him already.”

That was an image Hope didn’t need in her head. She shook Maya’s hands off as her friend doubled over in laughter. She thought about pushing her over the couch when a voice called her from the kitchen:

“Hope, tus empanadas están en la mesa!”

And Hope would’ve made Maya regret her words, but her stomach overpowered her mind.

She ran to the kitchen where the delicious aroma was strongest. She zeroed on the fresh empanadas sitting on the counter and grabbed one. It was hot, too hot. But they were also too delicious, so she chewed through the pain.

“What happened to the snacks you had?” Maya teased, gently blowing on her own empanada.

Hope swallowed the bite and glared at her, “Ok, I had one milkshake and that’s it. Besides, I love your mom’s food.”

“Just a milkshake? You can’t go around starving, Hope.” Alicia shrieked from the stove. Then she turned back to the dough, “Teenagers these days, they think iced coffee is all they need.”

Hope shook her head while stifling a chuckle. The music from the radio faded as the commentators spoke:

_“What do you think, Derek, should we go ahead with our usual weather forecast?”_

_“Chris don’t be a jerk. We know what Mystic Falls wants to talk about: Mikael Ivarsson’s death.”_

Hope’s jaw slackened; ears now focused on the radio.

“ _I’m still like… in shock, you know? To think a person as powerful as Ivarsson is mortal.”_

_“Right? What good was all that influence and money in his final moments?”_

_“I’m sure a lot of small businesses are glad he’s gone. The dude was a snake.”_

_“I wouldn’t be surprised if his own family’s partying on his grave right now. Rumor has it the Mikaelsons aren’t the big happy family they make themselves out to be.”_

_“Hopefully, we see more of them on next week’s funeral.”_

_“Funeral? They already have the date? The autopsy isn’t even out yet.”_

_“But you know how rich people are—they sweep bad press under the rug, always trying to hide something.”_

The radio sizzled out.

Alicia scowled at it, “Chismosos, always trying to get a bigger audience. Let the man rest in peace.”

Maya scoffed, “Rest in peace? Ma, the man was a freaking sociopath. That entire family is. There are several charges against them.”

“And yet none of them are in jail.”

“Because they have money. They probably pay the cops a fat check to let them go.”

“Maya! “

Hope stopped listening. The empanada in her mouth lost all taste, replaced with bile clawing up her throat.

A part of her was furious at Maya for slandering her family; she didn’t let anyone speak of them that way. Then why did her chest crush her lungs?

The kitchen darkened until there was nothing. Only her, alone and without a way out.

“Hope?”

A hand shook her shoulder. Ethan.

“You’re shaking.”

Hope cleared her throat, “Yeah, I think I sat right under the vent.” She rushed to change the topic, “Uh, I saw your graduation picture. You looked cute.”

A faint blush dusted Ethan’s cheeks, “Thanks.” Then his eyes lit up, “How was yours? I wanted to go down to New Orleans, but my football championship was on the same day.”

“I got a diploma. That was cool, I guess.”

“Come on!” Ethan punched her shoulder, “You were valedictorian! That’s big.”

Maya groaned, “Can we stop talking about school?”

Right. Hope and Ethan were newly graduated seniors, Maya still had one year of high school to go.

The brunette stabbed her empanada, “It’s summer, we should be planning our next adventure.”

A bad idea crossed her mind, judging by her mischievous grin. She leaned closer to them, “Like, mayhaps, the Blowout?”

“Are you kidding?” Ethan retorted, “You know Hope doesn’t like it.”

“Ok, right,” Maya took Hope’s hands in her own, “But this is your last summer of real freedom, shouldn’t we make it special?”

No. She wanted to forget the past week ever happened.

Yet Hope found herself considering it: a party without adult supervision in the middle of the forest. With alcohol. And to be honest, she needed to get out of her head, or she’d lose it.

And maybe, in the process, she’d get a good fuck.

“What time are we leaving?”

Maya squealed, Ethan gawked at her, “What—we are?”

Maya grabbed Hope’s wrist and pulled her out of the kitchen. Ethan scrambled behind them.

Before they got to Maya’s room, Ethan spoke up, “So, I’m all in for going, but why?”

His question was directed at Hope. The concern in his brow was almost endearing.

“That’s the hot topic every summer, right? Let’s join in on the fun.”

Ethan frowned but didn’t rebut her wish.

“Ok, be ready at 10.” Maya pushed Hope into her room and left poor Ethan alone on the other side of the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "tus empanadas estan en la mesa": Your empanadas are on the table.
> 
> "Chismosos": Gossips


	3. Scared of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the way I'll release chapters is in bundles of 3. It creates a nice flow for the plot. 
> 
> Enjoy the third chapter ;)

“Last year, the seniors stuffed a Salvatore kid in a suitcase and put him on a random bus. I heard he ended up in Philly and had to hitchhike with some druggies.” The enthusiasm shining in Maya’s eyes should be illegal.

They walked through a maze of trees, following the distant humming of music. This year’s Blowout was taking place in Arrowhead Beach, a lake only locals knew about. The forest loomed around them, casting a near-absolute darkness if it wasn’t for the moon. There were no other people in sight but to be fair, they were an hour late. They had to wait until Alicia fell asleep to sneak out of the house (there was no way she’d let them go to something this dangerous).

“No, he only made it to the next town over. Then he chickened out and called his mom.” Ethan said.

Maya puffed her curls, “Well, that’s what Dana said, and she never misses a meet.”

Hope ignored their bickering, choosing to follow the fairy lights that were strung on the trees. She’d been to Arrowhead Beach a long time ago for a camping trip. She has the faint memory of clear waters and sprawling red and yellow hills. Though at this time of night none of that would be visible.

They reached the tree line and Hope had to admit the Blowout lived up to its reputation. Music boomed from speakers perched on the trees, thwarting any attempt at having a conversation. The smell of weed wafted through the clearing. It’ll be a nightmare to get the stench out. People danced in front of a DJ booth, enjoying the privacy of the poor lighting.

Everywhere Hope looked, there was a game taking place. Some were stripping, others were downing shots like they were candy. Two guys zoomed over them on a zipline that looked like a serious public hazard. Hope preferred to not dwell on it.

Maya took off towards a pile of polished stone that served as a bar.

Before Hope could follow, Ethan held on to her arm. He looked concerned, if the furrow of his brow was anything to go by.

“Hey… are you ok?” He asked.

Hope blinked, “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just… I….” His eyes reflected a storm of thoughts, but whatever he wanted to say was tossed aside. He shook his head, “I’m happy you finally decided to come with us, just… stay close to me. These things go sideways real fast.”

Hope raised an eyebrow, “I know how to take care of myself.”

Ethan’s eyes widened in a near-panic, “I’m not trying to be possessive, I’d never do that to you. But I know you hate crowded places. You can tell me if you wanna leave and I’ll get us out of here.”

Hope watched as he sheepishly played with his hair. She decided to take him out of his misery by changing the topic.

“Let’s go, I’m dying for some vodka.” She veered off to the bar.

Maya was already on her second shot by the time they got there. She gestured to the barista, “One for my pretty friend.”

The girl, who couldn’t have been older than sixteen, nodded and poured a shot of vodka. She slid it across the counter and Maya raised it to Hope. “You’ve never been to the Blowout if you don’t get drunk. You gotta catch up, Hopey.”

Hope narrowed her eyes at Maya, took the glass, and downed it in one swig. The liquid burned her throat, exploding into a fire as it reached her stomach. The buzz was immediate and enough to soften the edge weighing her down.

They stumbled to the makeshift dance floor, laughing and holding each other by the waist. It was packed, people reeked of sweat and weed as they grinded on each other. They swayed to the music, song after song. Drink after drink. Maya pulled her closer until their breaths mingled. She brushed their lips, eliciting deep laughter from both.

Then the music faded as a voice boomed from the speakers:

“What’s good Mystic Falls?”

The crowd cheered, shooting beer in the air.

“This is DJ Kal welcoming you to the Blowout, where your balls are put to the test. If you have a small bladder, if blood makes you faint, if your mom still makes you lunch—this isn’t the place for you.”

Maya nudged her ribs with a devilish grin.

“We want to make this the best, most thrilling Blowout so far. So, let us open with the first round of the night.”

On cue, the bonfire exploded in a heap of purple flames. The mob awed at the spectacle and moved closer to the flare. Hope kept her distance.

A beam lit the tallest tree Hope had ever seen; you couldn’t even see the crown. Planks were embedded around the trunk in a misshapen staircase.

“The Blowout‘s a race to the top. We decided to take it a little more literally this year. Here are our first competitors of the night, from Mystic Falls High: Anton Howard. And from the Salvatore School: Jed Lee!”

Two guys walked to the base of the tree. They were equally tall and strong in build, with a power in their stance that exuded confidence.

“I’ve had my eye on that Salvatore hunk for a while.” Maya hummed, swirling her beer.

Ethan shot her a glare.

“The first person to ring the bell at the top wins. The planks are there to help you but be careful—they’re fragile.”

Hope scoffed, “So this is what the fuss is about, climbing trees?”

Ethan smiled, amused, “No, there’s two rounds before the first challenge. This is the first one of the night. It’s to hype people up before the real thing.”

Anton and Jed line up in front of the bonfire.

“Get set…”

A horn blew and both guys sprinted to the tree.

People cheered, some even held posters with their names on it. Hope caught one that read “Fuck class, love Jed’s ass.”

Anton took the lead, using his legs to push himself upwards. Jed was slower, but his grip was methodical and firm.

Maya tripped over the front line. With three shots and two beers, her movements were uncoordinated and sloppy. Ethan lunged and held on to her waist to keep her from face-planting on the ground.

Hope glanced up where Anton was perched on one of the planks. They were almost out of sight. If it wasn’t for the beam, they’d be shrouded in darkness.

Anton’s plank splintered under his feet. He dropped in the air, clawing at the bark for grip, but he was falling too fast. The crowd gasped and cursed until he landed with a sickening thump on one of the lowest branches.

“Holy shit—you ok dude?” Kal said.

Slowly, Anton sat up on the branch, soothing his chest. He held a thumbs up.

Jed found purchase on the trunk again and kept clear of the planks. Anton grunted and pushed himself up, now much behind than Jed.

“What happens if one of them gets injured?” Hope asked.

Ethan shrugged, “A few years back a guy fell off the dock and crushed his neck. People know the dangers of the Blowout, we’re all here aware of the terms.”

Hope looked back to the tree where Jed was out of sight at that point, but Anton was recovering ground fast.

Maya squirmed in Ethan’s grip and cursed his name. Hope rolled her eyes; they were the reason she was glad to be an only child.

A bell rang.

The beam switched to the crown of the tree where Jed swung from a flimsy branch, golden bell in hand.

“And the first game of the night goes to the Salvatore School!”

_Stallions! Stallions!_

One half of the forest cheered, the other echoed boo’s and lame name-calling.

“Marshall, what a lovely surprise to see you here.”

Hope’s expression fell. She knew that wily, grating voice.

Her eyes steeled upon landing on Connor Sanders, wide receiver of the Timber Wolves and Ethan’s frenemy—a meddlesome, capital dick. He ran a predatory gaze over her, lingering on her breasts.

“Have you finally decided to take up my offer?” He drawled, stepping into her personal space.

She took a larger step back, “I’m tired, stressed, and angry, and you’re still the last person I’d hook up with.”

His smirk twisted into a scowl.

God, his ego was so damn fragile.

He bared his teeth, “Then don’t text me at three in the fucking morning asking for my help.”

Hope stopped breathing for a moment, painfully aware of Ethan’s eyes on her. Her brain went into overdrive, grasping for an excuse to cover this disaster.

“How desperate must you’ve been to answer not a minute later.” She poured poison into her words.

Connor’s face turned red, from anger or embarrassment (or a mixture of both), Hope didn’t have time to guess. He huffed past her in a whirlwind of testosterone. It was left unsaid the conversation was nowhere near done.

Great, another item she had to add to her growing list of problems.

Ethan placed a tentative hand on her back, “What was that about?”

“Nothing worth talking about.” She wondered why Maya hadn’t jumped her already with questions. She looked around, but she was nowhere to be seen, “Where’s Maya?”

“Fam, get ready for the second round of the night: Bullet ants!” DJ Kal boomed.

Ethan tensed, “Shit.”

Hope followed his gaze to a wooden stage with two crystal tanks. Inside, hundreds of ants crawled over one another, so dark only the shimmer of their ebony shells gave away their presence. And standing behind one of them, Maya grinned idiotically at the crowd.

“Shit.” Hope echoed.

Ethan pushed his way to the front, eyes wide in absolute horror.

“Maya, what are you doing?”

Maya looked around, like she heard her name but didn’t know where it was coming from. She found Ethan and a bright smile overtook her face, “Hi, bitch face!”

She was drunk out of her mind. Maya was a party animal with a quick temper, but she usually had more control than this. What if her drink was spiked?

Hope’s fists tightened at the thought.

Ethan stood at the bottom of the platform, hissing orders at his sister. But Maya shook her head and moved closer to the other guy on the platform—a slim boy with a dark mop of curls. He kept wiping his hands against his pants, shifting from one foot to another. He was probably coerced into the round. Had Maya been, too?

A couple of burly guys dragged Ethan away from the stage. They were larger than him, something Hope didn’t think was possible.

The DJ’s voice pulled her attention to the stage, “Bullet ants. Their bite is one of the most painful in the animal kingdom. Its venom can paralyze a grown-ass man.”

The girl next to Hope shuddered and stepped back.

She didn’t want to think about what the venom would do to Maya’s skinny five-foot-dwarf body.

Hope weaved through the mob towards the DJ booth, eyes set on the bag behind Kal.

“You’ll put your hand in the ant farm. They’re territorial little shits, they don’t like intruders. They’ll nip, they’ll crawl, but if you’re first to take out your hand, you _lose_.”

Kal was too busy hyping the crowd to notice her. She peeked into the bag. Screws. A wrench. Voltage multimeter. _Aha!_ A pointer.

“Who’ll be the last one standing—Kirby from Salvatore, or the demon herself Maya Machado?”

Hope used the thunder of the crowd to hide her escape. She studied the people densely packed together around the stage.

The horn blared.

Maya plunged her hand into the farm. Kirby was more apprehensive, barely breaking into the dirt.

The ants’ reaction was immediate; they tore down their tunnels and crept over their hands. Maya giggled, squirming as if she was being tickled rather than threatened by a hundred poisonous ants. Kirby’s panic was clear on his face; still, he didn’t take his hand out. Instead, he buried it deeper, even more so than Maya.

Hope snatched a cup from a guy and dumped its contents. With her nails, she poked a hole through it and slid the pointer inside. She stopped in the heart of the mob where she had just enough space to hit the farm.

She was going to make sure Kirby lost.

She pressed the pointer. Hope smirked at the small dot on the glass, no one would notice it unless they were looking for it. With a subtle twist of her wrist, the laser reached the center of the colony. The ants became restless, swallowing Kirby’s hand in a dark cloud. He writhed, sweat dripped down his forehead.

Maya was sobering up quickly, finally registering some alarm. She could back out, trash the entire thing and go home unscathed. But her pride had always been greater than her.

She swept the crowd with wide, anxious eyes until she found Hope. All Hope could do was offer a slight nod to let her know she was handling it. She stood on her toes to have a better angle and moved the pointer right to the hub of the colony—

The light vanished.

Hope frowned.

She looked at the pointer in the cup to make sure the batteries weren’t dead. They weren’t.

She lifted her head and clashed with a pair of brown eyes glaring at her.

Like a child caught doing something they weren’t supposed to, she froze.

Well, she _was_ cheating.

She trailed from the girl’s face down her long neck, coming to an abrupt stop on her folded arms holding a purse.

A purse that happened to block Hope’s view of the ant farm.

The anger she expected never came. Instead, she wondered why the girl was trying to stop her—why not yell to the heavens she was cheating? The round would go to Salvatore.

Maya’s cry sparked her back into action.

Hope tore her eyes away from the girl and moved to another spot, except she followed her and blocked Hope’s way again. To top it off, she was too tall to shoot the laser over her shoulder without drawing attention.

If this girl was trying to be a hero, Hope had no problem being the villain.

She ditched the cup and hid the pointer in a fist behind her back. Her stride didn’t waver, resolute as she approached the brunette. The girl’s eyes watched her grow closer, trying to read her intentions. Hope wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist and twirled her into an embrace. The brunette’s hands clung to her shoulders to keep her balance; their faces came inches from each other, a sweet perfume transfixed the little space between them.

Hope reveled in the girl’s stunned expression, sparing a gentle whisper for her, “You shouldn’t have done that, love.”

She pressed the laser.

Chaos erupted around them; a symphony Hope orchestrated with impeccable control. The _Wolves! Wolves!_ chant told her everything she needed to know.

She let the girl slip out of her arms and turned to the stage. Maya’s hand was out, sore and pink, but otherwise unharmed.

The same couldn’t be said about Kirby—his hand was drenched in bullet ants clinging on to his skin, all color drained from this face and he looked seconds away from passing out. He collapsed on the stage.

Hope’s calm was short-lived, destroyed by a sharp voice.

“You cheated!”

She turned her head, watching as the girl closed the distance in long strides. For a second, Hope’s muscles twitched to run, afraid of a scalding brown glare. But she was a Mikaelson, a proud one at that. She’d rather be caught dead than fleeing.

Hope raised her chin, meeting the girl’s fire blow by blow.

“That’s a very serious accusation.” Amazing, Hope. Play dumb.

“You made Landon lose.” Her gestures were borderline frantic.

Hope shrugged, calm and composed as ever, “One of them was going to lose anyway. Just because it happened to be your school doesn’t mean I had anything to do with it.”

A crowd gathered around them, curious about what all the yelling was about.

The brunette jarred her teeth, “If you hadn’t intervened—if you hadn’t cheated, Landon wouldn’t be paralyzed!”

Hope sneered, “And it’s ok for Maya to be the one in pain?”

This seemed to make the girl falter, but the hesitation was gone in a blink, replaced with burning determination, “She deserves it.”

One second Hope was on her way to Maya’s side, and the next she’s pushing the girl to the ground.

The brunette struggled to regain her balance, “What is your problem?” She shouted.

“Ladies, please, calm down.”

Connor strolled into the circle that formed around them, holding his hands in the air.

“This is the Blowout, zero violence is tolerated.” He sounded genuinely concerned.

What a bunch of bullshit.

His lips curled up, “You can, however, settle your differences in a challenge.”

The mob erupted in a deafening cry.

He soaked it all up before continuing, “Mystic Falls has spoken, we have our first champions!”

Hope was about to shut down Connor’s little circus when her eyes made the mistake of straying to the brunette. Even from across the field Hope felt her fire. Her tall posture and downturned lips screamed challenge, a very tempting one. 

And Hope was never one to back down.


	4. Consequences

A shiver ran down Hope’s back, she wished she’d taken a jacket with her, but all she had was a thin shirt that was useless against the cold air. The only thing keeping her warm was the desire to see the brunette bathed in defeat.

After she got herself stuck in the challenge, a wave of athletes dragged both girls to a mansion in the outskirts of town. It looked like it belonged in an Italian vineyard with its adobe walls and sprawling evergreens. Connor said it was an old Lockwood estate used for the rare party or getaway.

“Nice, neutral ground.” He said.

A flag was hidden somewhere in the study and they were supposed to get it. To Hope, this sounded illegal.

Now, they were outside the mansion’s gates, surrounded by the more passionate Blowout attendees (or the more foolish, the jury was still out on that one).

Connor propped himself on a rock to look down on the crowd, “Tonight, it’s madam secretary Josie Saltzman versus the ice queen herself, Hope Marshall!”

Hope turned to her right where the brunette— _Josie Saltzman_ —drilled a glare into the side of her head. The cheers remained a distant noise to Hope’s ears as her eyes collided with furious brown. Its intensity was out of place on a face with delicate features like hers.

She would take it to her grave, but a small part of her was intimidated by this girl.

===============

As Hope looked up to the second story window, she questioned every decision that led her to this moment. The coverage of night was a small reprieve from the mortification afflicting her; at least no one would see her drag her dignity through the mud.

She walked away from Saltzman the moment the horn blew. The brunette headed north, presumably for the back door, but Hope knew it would take longer and, most likely, it’d be locked. Unless baby-face could pick a lock, she wasn’t getting in.

Hope took off her boots and put them to the side. Her hands wrapped around the arbor and she began climbing to the window. The good thing about this type of houses is the myriad of structures that aid in sneaking in. As expected, the window was unlocked—no one breaks in through the second story.

Her feet landed softly on the carpet inside. The hallway swallowed her in darkness until her eyes adjusted and she recognized the outline of three doors. She twisted the knob of the first one.

It was a bathroom, with mahogany counters and a tub she desperately wanted to try. But this was not the area of the house a study would be.

Strolling down the hallway, Hope came across a balcony overlooking the main entrance. Moonlight poured through the arched windows, illuminating a lavish foyer. It reminded her of the Abattoir in New Orleans, an ostentatious show of riches meant to blind the opposition. She rolled her eyes and followed a second corridor—a large double-door stood at the end of the hall and she hastened her pace.

The wall swung at her face. Hope staggered backward, cupping her nose, “What the fuck!”

Saltzman peeked from behind the hidden door, “Oops.” She deadpanned.

Hope glowered, wiping the drop of blood falling from her nose, “How did you even get in here?”

The brunette shrugged, “The maid’s staircase.”

For a second, Hope had the urge to smack her forehead. How did she not think of that? Mansions this old had passageways for the staff, but they’re incredibly hard to find, much less one leading directly to the second floor.

Josie glanced briefly at her bare feet and the corner of her mouth twitched, barely suppressing a smile. Embarrassment coated Hope’s cheeks pink. She could only hope it was too dark for it to be noticeable. She held on to the small pride of knowing she made it inside first.

She looked over the girl’s shoulder to the door. Josie caught her. They stared at each other before breaking into a sprint. Hope took a significant lead, but her socks slid over the wooden floor and she collided with the wall. Josie pushed her aside and stepped into the room.

Cursing, Hope yanked on the knob. Twice. Again.

It was locked.

_Son of a—_

“This is cheating, Saltzman!” She pounded her fist on the dark oak, “So much for being righteous.”

She couldn’t let her win. Forget about dignity, this was personal.

Hope pulled out a bobby pin from her hair and kneeled to be eye-level with the knob. She latched the pin into the keyhole and unlocked it in record time. She slithered inside the study—

Josie stood behind the desk; blue flag balled in one hand.

Hope used all her short stature to block the door, “Give me the flag and we can walk away peacefully.”

The brunette scoffed, “Like I’m gonna let an asshole like you win. I’m doing this for my friend.”

Hope brought a hand to her chest, “So noble!” Then a sneer took over her mouth, “I don’t give a damn. Your boyfriend isn’t even here, he’s still passed out on stage.”

Josie bristled, stalking closer to her, “How stupid of me. There’s something rotten about you Mystic Falls students. Always vying for victory, no matter who you step on.”

“Don’t clump me with those idiots.” Hope bared her teeth, akin to a wild animal. She took a step, now into Josie’s personal space. The flag rumpled under her iron grip, Hope wouldn’t be surprised if she threw a punch, “Why are you holding back? I can see it in your eyes… you want to hurt me. Just like I hurt him.”

Brown eyes fogged over, taking on a faraway look. Hope used the opening to snatch the flag from her hands. She rushed down the corridor to the staircase—

The carpet disappeared from under her. Her legs swiped away, and she tumbled against the rail. Through tears, she noticed the carpet drop from Josie’s hands.

She jogged towards Hope, leaning down to take the flag back, “See you outside.” She had the audacity to wink.

It was pure fury that revived Hope’s muscles. She pushed herself up and took two steps at a time down the staircase. Zeroing on Josie’s back, she tackled her before she could open the main entrance. They struggled for the flag in a childish tug-o-war. Hope straddled her, pulling and pulling until her skin burned. She was stronger and could feel the brunette slowly losing the fight.

Josie bucked her hips up and slammed Hope against the floor, using her long legs to pin her down. The air got knocked out of her lungs, limbs collapsing from exhaustion. They were both panting, a mess of sweaty hands and disheveled clothes.

Hope stared at the ceiling, it felt inevitable when her gaze dropped to the dark pools above her. They were studying her with equal interest and skepticism, as if she’d break into a run again. But she wouldn’t, because Hope found herself in the same perplexed state from the Blowout. The question swirled in her mind: why won’t she do anything? Josie had everything she needed—the flag, the high ground, the exit.

What was she waiting for?

Her face got bathed in blue and red light, and it took Hope too long to register the siren outside.

The door flung open, rattling the wall with a startling bang.

A bright light blinded Hope, she had to shield her eyes to make out the outline of a man under the threshold.

“Mystic Falls police, freeze!”

Anxiety swelled in her stomach, begging her to run. She writhed under Josie until the girl spoke.

“Dad?”

===============

The police station was just like Hope remembered: cold and primitive.

She was still partially dazed from the mug shots, but she could make out mysterious splotches littering the yellow walls, many she’d rather stay far away from. Fluorescent light cast an eerie glow that gave her skin a sickly appearance. The faint touch of caffeine drifted through the air, mixed with the harsh smell of bourbon.

Josie remained quiet next to her since the Lockwood mansion, with eyes trained on her shoes as if looking at anything else might get her killed. Hope replayed the moment in her head when she called the sheriff “dad”

She spared a look at the sheriff leading them through the precinct—a tall man with a scruffy beard and a uniform that could use a wash. Upon closer inspection, she realized the alcohol stench came from him.

Somehow, she doubted he was dad of the year.

He stopped in front of a metal door. The lights flickered above their heads as he dug through his pockets for the key.

Actually, the place was worse than the last time Hope was there. At least then they had lollipops on the front desk.

Finally, he held the door open for them. Like scolded children, they took a seat on the plastic chairs across his desk. Hope leaned back, studying the trashed office—cluttered files and strewn jackets, leftover food, and poorly hidden beer bottles—until they stopped on the name tag sitting on his desk:

****_Sheriff Alaric Saltzman_ ** **

Hope glanced over to Josie, hunched over herself. The ferocity from the Blowout was completely extinguished.

Alaric sat back on the rickety leather chair. He examined the girls, taking a second longer on Josie, “The mansion has an alarm system that sends a signal to the Lockwoods and the station when there’s movement inside.” He explained, focused on the brunette, “They’ve decided to not press any charges.”

The stern tone of his voice made Hope believe he had something to do with that.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re still in?”

Silence. Hope refused to meet his eyes, dedicated to playing with her hair.

Alaric slapped his desk, startling the girls. Any warmth lingering on his attitude vanished, “You invaded private property, a felony in Virginia. You may not face a civil lawsuit, but there are still severe consequences to your stupid games.”

Josie tilted her head back—were those tears in her eyes?

“Josie, how could you be so reckless?” Alaric grieved. “You’re smarter than this, sweetheart.”

The girl didn’t speak, simply nodding along like a prisoner resigned to their punishment.

The sheriff sighed, “Community service. Thirty hours.”

Josie’s head snapped up, “Thirty hours? Dad, the fashion show. Lizzie will have to do everything—”

“You committed a crime, Josie. You should’ve thought about the show before breaking in.”

The way Josie slumped against the chair almost made Hope laugh.

“As for Ms. Marshall,” Hope looked at the sheriff, “You’re eighteen. This is jail time.”

Her stomach lurched, “Hold on, so she gets kiddie reprimand and I go to jail?”

Alaric grimaced, “It’s the law. You are, by definition, an adult. This is what comes with it.”

No. No way in hell was she going to jail. Sure, baby-face was his daughter and whatnot, but the favoritism in this situation was way out of line. She turned eighteen a month ago, it had to be illegal for him to punish her like that.

The sheriff dislodged the handcuffs from his belt when Hope raised her hands, “You can’t do that. If I’m being detained, I get one call, right?”

Alaric paused, “Yes, you do.”

“I’d like to make a call.”

===============

Minutes later, Hope held a phone to her ear as the ringer beeped on the line. A pre-recorded message played:

_Hello, this is a collect call from Mystic Falls county jail. Say yes if you would like to accept this call._

The line picked up, “Klaus?” Marcel’s voice was steady and controlled, something only came with familiarity.

Hope willed her voice to match his, “No.”

“Hope?” Now he was panicked. There was a fluttering of bedsheets, “What the hell are you doing in jail? What happened?”

“Turns out I go to jail if I’m eighteen.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm right now. Who took you in?”

“Sheriff Saltzman.”

“Damn it, Andrea. Does he know?” He was seething, more than Hope ever heard from him.

“N-no. I broke into an old Lockwood estate.”

There was a moment of silence. She was scared to even breathe.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

The line died.

A lump clogged her throat, she couldn’t swallow it. She leaned against the wall, legs growing weaker. She never messed up this bad, if Marcel told her father, she’d be skinned alive. It wouldn’t matter if they were blood, always and forever, because the company came first. She’s never been more than an afterthought, and now she was a liability.

It would be easier to get rid of her.

She would, in her father’s shoes.

Hope wasn’t religious or spiritual, but she found herself praying to any god willing to listen to her broken self. For a way out, for mercy.

===============

It was four in the morning, three hours after the sheriff took them in. One after Marcel arrived.

Hope was slumped against a waiting chair outside his office. Her body weighed with exhaustion, but her eyes refused to close. Her mind raced with too many thoughts to give her that luxury.

Across her, Josie curled into a tiny ball on the chair. She fell asleep a while ago, with the occasional snore tumbling from her lips. Hope envied her, the ease that befell on her features as soon as she drifted off. She looked so calm, so serene. So vulnerable. Hope couldn’t remember the last time she had eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Maybe that’s why she was losing her mind. She once read lack of sleep led to madness.

She wondered if Maya and Ethan made it home safe. If anything good came out of this mess, it was Maya’s survival. She would hate for her one benevolent act of the year to be for nothing.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the door opened with a soft click. Hope sprang to her feet, awaiting her sentence.

Marcel trudged out, black coat flowing dramatically behind him, “Let’s go.” He didn’t look at her.

Hope caught Alaric’s eyes, and she was surprised to see an intelligent glint in them. It felt like a message, an understanding. Like she shouldn’t have crossed him off as pathetic in the first place.

She faltered to catch up with Marcel, knowing well he’d leave without her if she wasn’t there by the time he turned on the car. She slipped inside just as the engine roared to life.

To distract herself from the awkward silence, she fidgeted with the seatbelt, delaying snapping it in place. The farther they got from the police station, the more restless she became. It was a fight to keep her thoughts at bay, the same ones she tried to escape at the Blowout. And the more she thought about the Blowout, the angrier she got.

Another memory surfaced without her permission, of brooding lips and fiery eyes: _I’m doing this for my friend_.

Hope realized she didn’t take on the challenge for Maya—she couldn’t even blame her horrible decisions on her.

She shook her head. Accepting the challenge like that, showing her emotions so blatantly… she lowered her guard.

She was weak.

Her father would disown her for it.

Hope was spiraling and she knew it. She pulled herself out before it was too late; it was better to deal with Marcel’s wrath than her thoughts.

“I lost my boots.” She said with a light tone, “At least they were old. Otherwise, I’d be running to get them right now.”

She watched him, waiting for the moment he dropped his tough-brother act and laughed with her. Marcel’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, causing the leather to creak.

“You’re not off free.” He snapped, “Forty hours of community service.”

Relief washed over Hope—it wasn’t so bad. She was too close to seeing the inside of a cell to be a bitch.

That was the calm before the storm. As the lights of town faded behind them, Marcel stepped on the gas, “What the fuck were you thinking, Hope? I told you to blend in and you did the exact opposite.” He scoffed, a grating, furious sound, “Why did I think you’d listen—you always do the same thing.”

Hope held on to the handle as the car picked up speed, “Running into danger, taking up the dirty jobs… You’re lucky. Sheriff Saltzman has been after your father for years. He almost sent the Mikaelsons to jail once.”

She let a few painful seconds stretch out, “Does- does he know?”

Marcel stepped off the gas slightly, “No. He thinks I’m your guardian.”

She nodded, allowing her heart to return to its normal beat, “Then why did he let me go?”

No answer. The ice in his eyes melted away.

Her heart cracked, threatening to break into old pieces.

“He knew my mom.”

It had been a long time since she met another person who remembered her mom. She had a small circle of friends; Alicia was one of them. Her father didn’t talk about her—most of the time he acted like she never existed. Hope failed to recognize Alaric as her mom’s friend.

Now his expression made sense—he must’ve cared enough about her mom to honor her memory. Or he pitied her; the poor orphan girl whose life burned in a fire.

Despite the tears forming in her eyes, she took comfort in knowing even from death her mom looked out for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heehee the ball is picking up speed ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	5. Meet the Saltzmans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another chapter (this one got a lil' long, but it was the only way it felt complete).
> 
> I'll try to update on Mondays, and if I happen to miss one, you can be damn sure next Monday there will be an update (I like consistency lol).
> 
> Enjoy!

When Hope woke up, her cheeks were stained with tears. The ghost of her mother’s warmth lingered on her skin, a bitter reminder that she was no longer there. And she never would be.

She rolled over to her nightstand where she kept a box of tissues for these mornings. She dabbed under her eyes, getting rid of the wet trails and leftover sleep. Sometime after getting home, she stripped to her bra and a pair of shorts and collapsed from sheer fatigue. She hoped she’d be so tired her sleep would be dreamless, but she’s never had such luck.

It was late morning when she unlocked her phone. The last time she checked it was to read a text from Ethan saying they’d follow her to the Lockwood mansion. Then the battery died.

She had a storm of texts from Maya practically ordering her to meet at the Grill, a few from Ethan, and one from Marcel asking if she was to stay with the Machados. And no calls from her father.

An air of relief engulfed her. She no longer felt chained to the bed.

Another notification caught her eye—an email. It was from the county court, disclosing her community service hours began at 1:00 p.m. She cursed at the ceiling, and once some of her anger was dealt with, she sat on the edge.

The attic of the cabin had been transformed into her room, a personal safe haven. A large window overlooked the backyard and the forest beyond, and set next to the view was her easel. She’d spent hours over the canvas, pouring every violent, poisonous thought in a storm of blue and orange. Her last painting rested in the corner, covered in tarp that once protected the floor against oil splotches. If she stared at it long enough, a somber call begged her to tear the tarp away and face her inner demons.

She shook the thought out of her head. She sent a quick reply to Maya and walked to the bathroom. After a quick shower to get rid of the stench of weed, she descended the flight of stairs.

“Marcel?”

Her voice echoed through the house with no answer. She pattered to the living room’s window, coming upon an empty driveway. He took the car.

Ignoring the pang of hurt digging into her heart, she took a deep breath and walked to the kitchen. Except there was no beating of knife against a cutting board like every morning, or soft music like at the Machados’. It was cold and empty, the dishes long used and washed.

Fine. She didn’t have much of an appetite, anyway.

Hope begrudgingly put away the single plate and pans, condemning in the comfort of her mind the Blowout and the sheriff and Josie Saltzman. How petty of Marcel, really, to leave her without a way to town.

And he expected her to act like the adult around here.

She closed the cupboard, and without the soft clattering of porcelain, the house plunged into awful silence. It made her skin crawl.

Instead of wallowing in loneliness, Hope decided to get a head start on the trek to town. She pulled on some sneakers and slammed the door on her way out.

Marcel’s cabin, if it could be called that, was a bachelor’s dream escapade. Located in the outskirts of town and surrounded by greenery, it was the best place to keep meddlesome neighbors away or throw an exclusive party. Hope loved the closeness to the forest, the delicious quiet of the night—a complete opposite from the raucous streets of New Orleans.

Usually, however, she had a car ready to take her to town when she needed it. A fifteen-minute drive easily turned into an hour-long walk. She kicked a rock, watched as it tumbled off the side of the dirt road, and repeated the cycle all the way to Mystic Falls.

=====

The moment Hope stepped into the Mystic Grill, she spotted the Machados sitting in the far corner—the most secluded booth in the place.

Ethan stood up to receive her with those wide, bright eyes she found hard to look into for long. She slid between him and Maya, sensing the anticipation in the air.

“Are you alright?” Ethan asked, polite as always, “What happened?” He slipped her a basket of fries, but Hope couldn’t stomach the thought of eating.

Maya was not as tactful, staying true to the hurricane she was, “You’re a motherfucking legend, Marshall. People will talk about last night for years. And no, I’m not romanticizing it because I was high.”

“There was nothing fun about it.” Hope grumbled, “It was like every other night out—you got in a mess and I had to fix it.”

“It doesn’t happen every time!”

Hope counted off with her fingers, “The time you sneaked into a frat party. When Dana dared you to steal from the mall—Oh! Remember the fake band that recruited you in Richmond?”

“Ok, ok! Stop.” Maya said, “Fine, I’m impulsive, but that’s how our friendship works. I spice up your boring life.”

Hope rolled her eyes.

“Anyway,” Ethan punched his sister’s shoulder, then turned to Hope, “I was really worried about you. It was chaos when the sirens came, and we couldn’t stay.”

She preferred to move on from last night—it was an embarrassing blow to her collected character, but she could at least appease Ethan, “We were taken to the station. The Lockwoods don’t like people in their property, so I have forty hours of community service.”

No one had to know about her near-jail experience.

“I was rooting for you, by the way.” Maya said, “If anybody could take on the wicked witch, it’s you.”

Hope frowned, “The what?”

“Josie Saltzman, the stuck up, annoying girl. Evil incarnate.” Maya ripped a bite off her fry, “A major bitch.”

Hope crinkled her nose, glancing towards Ethan. Maya had a history of exaggerating stories, but not even he corrected her statement. In fact, a grim shadow crossed his eyes.

Hope was missing something, and she hated not knowing what.

She leaned forward, pausing as a waitress walked by, “What did she do to you?”

“I’m surprised you don’t know about the Saltzmans,” Maya waved her soda, “There are rumors about that family. It’s almost a circus.”

“I heard her twin, Lizzie, has gone to the mental hospital enough times to drive the nurses insane. But the sheriff keeps it quiet because he’s ashamed.” Ethan said.

“I don’t know about the mental hospital, but she’s definitely some type of crazy.” Maya added, “Dana’s mom owns the corner pharmacy and she said Lizzie picks up medicine frequently.”

“Maybe she fakes it for the drugs.”

“Could also be for their alcoholic father.”

They kept blabbering on, but Hope never held much interest in small-town gossip. It was always flawed or fake, a sad excuse to magnify people’s lives. Though the alcoholic part was true, she’d seen it with her own eyes.

Ethan leaned closer, whispering conspiratorially, “Some people say they’re cursed.”

Hope raised an eyebrow, “Cursed? Don’t tell me you believe this nonsense.”

He shrugged, “I don’t, but they’re for sure unlucky. Mom died in childbirth, plus she was a Parker.”

“Maniacs run in the family.” Maya finished for him, “And daddy is a depressed gambler who can barely do his job right.”

“That’s enough.” Hope barked. She felt dirty, plebeian, at engaging in lowly gossip. She was above it. She could find out everything about the Saltzmans if she wanted—from their financial statements to the times they showered—and it would be all true, “You’re acting like children. It’s embarrassing.”

Maya took a sip from her soda, “Just stay away from them, especially Josie. She’s crazy.”

The low timbre of the town’s clock struck one, preventing Hope from asking her friend what she meant. She tapped Ethan’s shoulder, urging him to let her out.

“Where are you going?” He asked.

“Community service.”

A devilish grin spread over Maya’s mouth, “Maybe I’ll come around and give you something extra to do.”

Hope flipped her off over the shoulder.

=====

“Ms. Marshall, how kind of you to finally join us.” Said a woman with caramel skin clad in a neat, professional attire. The disdain in her words was not missed by Hope, too bad she didn’t feel the need to excuse herself. She didn’t want to be there in the first place.

She made it to city hall minutes after 1:00, and although she was still late, perhaps it would have been more acceptable. In her defense, the hall was a headache to navigate. Not even the employees appeared to have a semblance of organization, with them running around like madmen. When she did manage to find an old secretary to point her in the direction of the juvenile court, she had to undergo an interrogation as to why her ID said she was eighteen but was receiving a minor’s probation.

Today just couldn’t get any worse.

Hope planted her feet under the threshold, refusing to walk into the tiny office that smelled of leather and gardenias. Was she being difficult? Yes. She was pissed and her new supervisor was the only person in the vicinity to lash out on.

The woman sighed, accepting she wasn’t walking any further. She stood in the middle of the office with a file in hand. Behind her, a wooden desk with exquisite luster harbored an orderly assortment of journals and documents.

“So, you’re the first victims of the Blowout. This is a new record, usually you don’t get caught until the third challenge or later.”

Hope scoffed, first at the revelation of setting a new loser bar, then at the woman’s choice of words.

_Victims?_

For the first time, she noticed the third person in the room, partially hidden by the woman in front of her.

She caught the familiar outline of brown hair.

Hope’s heart raced at the sight of Josie because, apparently, her day could get _much_ worse. Her back was to Hope, resting against the leather chair. She knew Hope was there, yet she chose to ignore her.

She glared at the girl’s head, willing her to turn around. She wanted a fight, and looking into the fire from last night and screaming to its face was exactly what she needed.

Her pleas went unanswered.

“My name is Dr. Emma Tig, I’m in charge of managing juvenile probations. I understand you already know each other.”

Josie finally stood up, rounding around the chair to Emma’s side. Her eyes briefly wandered to Hope in acknowledgment, but they were gone just as fast, as if the collection of diplomas on the wall was more to her interest.

The universe clearly wanted to slap Hope across the face, because while her insides churned with nausea and skin paled beyond its healthy sheen, Josie stood tall, almost glowing. Hope was sure this was the same girl who got taken in with her last night, so why didn’t she look as miserable as her?

This was an injustice, a violation to her persona and—was that a cup of tea in her hand?

Josie took a gentle sip from her cup and put it down on the desk, dragging her movements like she had all the time in the world, “Yes, Dr. Tig. We were unfortunate enough to land in the same challenge.”

Emma nodded, sympathizing with her, but Hope saw right through the double meaning of her words: _I can’t believe I’m here with her._

The feeling was mutual.

Her nails bit into her palms with ferocity, but other than that, no sign of anger showed through her stoic mask. She could’ve been in and out of the mansion before the sheriff even got in his car if it hadn’t been for this cretin standing in her way.

She wouldn’t have been dragged into the challenge at all.

“I gave Ms. Saltzman a brief rundown of how your hours will work while we awaited your appearance.” Emma shot her a pointed look. Hope rolled her eyes—she got it, she’s late. The woman clapped her hands, “Very well, then. It’s about time we get started, follow me.”

Emma and Josie walked several steps in front of her. The two chit-chatted like old friends, laughing and reminiscing about times past whilst Hope sulked in the back. As they descended a turret staircase, she caught the aggravating high-pitched noise of Josie fawning over Emma’s necklace. Hope thought there was nothing special about it, other than fitting her professional front.

What a kiss-ass.

Eventually, they arrived at a skatepark. Hope shielded her eyes from the sun as Emma explained their job.

“Every weekday, you’ll meet me in the lobby of city hall at nine. You’ll work six hours a day until your quota is fulfilled. Understood?”

Josie nodded readily. Hope gave a disgruntled huff.

“Since it’s your first day, we’ll take it easy.” Emma waved to the pile of cleaning supplies behind her, “You’ll be removing the park’s graffiti.”

Hope sputtered and really looked at the skatepark: the rise and fall of ramps covered in cheap spray paint, scrabbles overlapped each other like a poorly planned sleeve. Hope couldn’t tell where a scratch tag began or if it was supposed to be something more. It was a serious eyesore.

It would take _days_ to remove it.

She didn’t get to complain as Emma shoved a bucketful of brushes to her chest, “Spray with the solution, scrub in circular motions, and rinse with water.”

Hope gawked at the bucket for a second too long, catching a whiff of vomit mixed with bleach. Her stomach churned.

Emma beamed at them, like she was their mother or something equally scant, “Oh! I almost forgot.” She threw a vest to Hope’s bucket that missed its mark and hit her face instead, “Now you’re all settled. Have fun!” She waved, strolling to the café across the street.

Hope let her bucket clatter to the ground. She ripped the vest from her face, glaring at the bright orange polyester as if it had personally offended her. She was a second away from stomping her foot like a damn child when a snicker stole her attention.

Josie clamped a hand over her mouth, mischief glimmered in her eyes.

Heat rushed to Hope’s face, she succumbed to her instincts and dropped the first quip on her mouth, “Being a suck-up doesn’t make you better, Saltzman.”

Josie’s laugh died abruptly, “Excuse me?”

Hope hated repeating herself. So, she didn’t. Josie heard her well enough.

She was proven right at the little huff that tumbled from her pillowy lips, “Just put on your vest. We have a lot to do.”

Easy for her to say—the orange didn’t clash hideously with her hair. Reluctantly, she draped it over her shoulders (only after she tried to tie it around her waist and Emma blew a loud whistle, making it clear she was watching them).

=====

For hours, she scrubbed and rinsed concrete. The skin of her hands peeled with sores and her jeans were soaked. The weather was tolerable but being under direct sun for so long has bathed her in sweat. She felt disgusting. Her windbreaker had been discarded almost as soon as she began, leaving her in a tank top and the atrocious orange vest.

She barely exchanged any words with Josie, either. Hope was happy to bask in the silence. They wordlessly agreed to take opposite sides of the skatepark, which kept their interactions minimal.

For some time now, Josie had been talking to a blonde with a big mouth and a boy with a thick afro. The boy even started rinsing the graffiti solution for her. Skaters used the newly clean ramps on her side like it was a normal day, it was loud and lively. Meanwhile, Hope’s half remained empty. She guessed it had something to do with the ugly scowl she shot a guy for bumping into her bucket.

She was fine with that. In fact, she was proud of her hard work—a clean, glossy bowl and half a ramp. Yes, having kids around would only slow her down.

A clicking resounded in the park, it was Emma dragging a wheeled cooler. Hope chased after her, mouth dry and chapped like sandpaper.

The woman dug through the ice and grabbed two water bottles, “Girls, here’s some—”

Hope snagged the bottle from her, gulping its contents in a single breath. Droplets rushed down the corners of her mouth, leaving a pleasant trail on her burning skin. She squeezed the bottle until the very last drop fell on her tongue, and then allowed her oxygen-starved lungs to breathe.

“Maybe I should’ve brought the cooler sooner.” Emma grimaced. Her eyes were on Josie, who Hoped hadn’t noticed was standing next to her.

The brunette was in a similar condition—draining the water like she’s been wandering a desert for days. Hope took silent pleasure in seeing her disheveled appearance: flushed. glistening skin and stray baby hairs plastered to her face. They were on more equal ground now.

“Wow, I’m impressed with how much you’ve gotten done today,” Emma marveled, looking around the park. Then her movements slowed, “If only you could get rid of… this.”

She gestured to the line of graffiti extending awkwardly down the middle of the park—a limit neither girl dared cross and burst their fragile truce.

Emma studied them for a second, sighed when they refused to concede, “If you clean this up, I’ll let you go an hour early.”

It would’ve been impossible to tell who moved first, both girls were gone in the blink of an eye to gather their buckets.

Hope wiped the concrete with renewed vigor. The paint wasn’t coming off as clean as before, but she had a good pace. If she kept up, she’d be done in thirty minutes.

She removed the last strokes of a misshapen dick (they didn’t even look like that) and stood up, wiping sweat from her brow. Hope turned over to Josie, wondering how she was doing. Annoyance spiked anew in her chest when she found her laughing with the same twosome from before.

The blonde blabbered about one thing or another with wild gestures, and the boy stood transfixed by her. It looked more like a monologue, but it was enough to distract Josie.

“Hey!” She shouted, “Stop fooling around and get back to work.”

She wanted to leave, and there was no way in hell she’d clean everything by herself. Distantly, an alarm rang in her head, but the blood pumping in her head was too loud to discern what she got herself into.

“It’s only fair you take care of this, Marshall, Hope Marshall.” Hope looked back at the shrilling voice. It was the blonde, whose attitude she vaguely recalled.

Dying to punch something, Hope prowled closer until an obnoxious amount of perfume wafted to her nose. One she’s only smelled in Cinderella’s before.

“Ah, you’re that cashier.” She ransacked her brain for a name tag—Lily, Louise? “What was your name? I’m not particularly good at recalling insignificant details.”

The blonde seethed. Hope had a thing for poking egos, “And if I remember correctly, your name was meant to be in court today. You’re a criminal in every sense of the word.”

Hope fought the surprise from seeping into her face. She glanced at Josie, oddly betrayed. The brunette whispered in the girl’s ear, but the blonde shook her off. There was vengeance in her eyes, as if Hope stole her favorite toy or something. Josie blinked between her and the blonde, frozen and unmoving.

Very well, then. She’ll settle this herself.

She smiled, that same sharp edge she learned from her father, “Yeah, I am a criminal. So, believe me when I tell you staying away from me is the smarter choice.”

The blonde shifted, enough for the boy to jump into the situation. Hope stared with wide eyes.

“Uh, Lizzie… I think it’s better if we go.” He mumbled.

It was Milton fucking Greasley.

Hope should’ve recognized the fidgety nature of his hands, or the large smile permanently etched on his mouth. She met him years ago at a charity when her father tried to strike a deal with his mother—Veronica Greasley, owner of Triad Industries. To her surprise, they got along. He was a genuine person, always with the best intentions at heart (if somewhat alienated from his parents). She was convinced he never harbored an ill thought.

It made it all the more tragic when she betrayed him.

The deal didn’t work out. Under her father’s orders, she stole information about a classified Triad project from Veronica’s office. That night Milton was at the wrong place at the wrong time—he spotted her as she climbed out of the window. She panicked, adrenaline shot through her system and she slammed him against the wall.

“If you speak of this to anyone, I’ll make sure your parents never call you son again.”

They never talked after that.

Milton pulled on Lizzie’s arm, an urgency in his movements that clenched Hope’s heart.

“Is that a threat, Marshall?” Lizzie stalked to her, eyes narrowed to slits.

Josie scrambled to block her, placing her hands on her shoulders, “Please, Lizzie, just go back to the shop. I’ll be there soon.”

Lizzie.

Now she knew what Maya was talking about.

“Lizzie!” Hope smiles. The twins turned to her, confused at her change of tone, “That’s your name, it’s you.” She laughed, a quiet sound that grew louder, until her face felt like it would break in two.

The blonde grimaced and spoke as if she wasn’t there, “This one’s defective. Jo, do you have a receipt or is there an office where we return it?”

Hope shut her mouth, killing the laughter, “Bold of you to say that. Would you do the same without your pills?”

Lizzie stepped back, blinking furiously like she’d been slapped. Hope spread her arms, “Don’t be like that, darling—”

Josie pushed her, “What is wrong with you?” She fumed. Hope flailed to keep her balance, meeting blazing brown eyes.

A smirk made Hope’s lips twitch, there she was.

“Were you here at all?” She sneered, “Or are you blind? Oh, I know, you’re just like your sister.”

Hope’s muscles pumped with thrill, taking her back to the Blowout and the Lockwood mansion. This time, she’d make sure to come out as the winner.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Josie stomped to her, coming so close Hope felt her breath on her face.

She knew what Hope meant; it was written on her eyes. She was daring Hope to say it.

Her body burned hotter than it had all day by being under the sun, thrummed with electricity. 

Hope’s face contorted into a snarl, “Just as psychotic.”

In an instant, Josie hurled a bucket at Hope, drenching her in grimy water. Hope yelped, short of gagging at the awful smell. She gawked at her ruined clothes tainted brown, hair stuck to her face at weird angles. She felt—and smelled—like wet dog.

Her head snapped up as she bared her teeth, reaching for Josie’s neck—

“What in the heavens happened here?” Hope’s fingers twitched inches away from tan skin before dropping to her side. No one answered the question. Emma sighed and turned to Lizzie, “And you? You aren’t one of mine.”

Lizzie took her wide eyes away from Josie, “I came to see my sister—”

“You’ll see your sister after she’s done with her hours for today.” Emma scorned. Lizzie had the decency to shut up, “Now go on, before I decide to write some hours for you, too.”

Lizzie scurried away, with Milton following close behind.

Emma put hands on her hips and examined the mess, “I knew you’d be trouble, but this is absolutely unacceptable.”

Hope clashed with Josie’s glare over Emma’s shoulder, and her voice dissolved into nothingness. Brown eyes flickered with passion, and despite the distance, Hope could see the fire from last night—shrouded in moonlight, in blue and red, in the sickly glow of fluorescent lights. She desired nothing more than see it smothered to cinders.

“Josie.”

The brunette pulled away first, “Hmm?”

Emma crossed her arms, “I said, go fetch a towel for Hope. There’s a shed at the front of the park with a cabinet full of them.”

Josie glared one last time at Hope before shuffling away.

Without the distraction, Hope felt the uncomfortable fit of her clothes more prominently. They stuck to her body and whenever she pinched them away, a weird air bubble formed. She balled her fists.

“What happened here, Hope?” Emma’s hand appeared to reach for her shoulder, but her filthy shirt stopped her.

Hope scoffed, wringing water from her shirt, “I think it’s obvious, Dr. Tig. Saltzman assaulted me.”

There was no answer. Hope looked up and found Emma studying her, awaiting an elaboration or retraction.

“You don’t believe me.”

Emma bit the inside of her cheek, it was the first time Hope saw her break her professional character, “Josie is… she’s a nice girl. And I read your file, the type of trauma you’ve gone through… it leaves a lasting impact well into adulthood.”

Hope ran a hand through her wet locks, suppressing a humorless laugh, “You’re not my therapist, Emma. A file doesn’t tell you who I am. You know _nothing_ about me.”

She was saved from a painful silence as Josie came back, offering the oldest, most withered towel Hope had ever seen.

When the graffiti was removed, Emma congratulated them on completing their first six hours of community service.

Dirty and exhausted, Hope thought of calling Ethan to pick her up (she really liked Alicia’s shampoo and used it when she showered at their house), soon as she pulled out her phone, a black sedan parked in front of her.

The window rolled down and unveiled Marcel as the driver.

Hope slouched. She just couldn’t catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Twitter for rants and sneak peeks: @liveskippy.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	6. The Unwanted Child

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi :) 
> 
> Like with the Machados, I'm keeping Mikael's Norwegian ancestry and culture. Hence, his last name is "Ivarsson", meaning "son of Ivan" while his children are Mikaelson (son of Mikael). On the same note, "Sjef" is Norwegian for "Chief". 
> 
> With that aside, enjoy the chapter!

Hope stomped out of the café with a mountain of napkins in her arms. She got out of there before the barista could think of charging her for them.

She opened the door of the black sedan and covered the seat with them. When Marcel saw her drenched, fetid appearance, he refused her entrance to the car. He didn’t let her use his jacket either, claiming he’d “never get the stench out.”

With the leather now protected, she slid into the car. She shot a deadly glare to Marcel and paused—distracted by the handkerchief he used to wipe blood off bruised knuckles.

She rolled her eyes and reached for the seatbelt, “You’re so careless with your jobs.”

“Not everyone is a perfectionist like you,” He folded the cloth into a neat square and stashed it in the armrest, “And some of us have fun with them.”

Hope never saw the appeal in torturing people, it was solely a means to the endgame she wanted. But that’s why Marcel was good at it—he enjoyed it.

She melted into the seat, as far away from him as possible. The air remained charged with tension and unspoken thoughts. Neither of them was adept at communicating emotion, let alone apologizing. Usually, they waited it out until all feelings were buried and then went out for a shake. In the worse cases, they took their anger to the boxing ring.

Regardless of how bad they fought, Hope knew they’d be ok at the end of the day. She’s had enough time to cast aside her feelings, perhaps he did too.

“Did you try the acid I mentioned last time?”

He grunted.

Hope frowned; she sensed his bitterness wasn’t directed at her. It was like he wasn’t there with her at all. He kept a firm grip on the steering wheel and avoided her gaze.

The car delved back to a quiet rumble. She looked out the window, watched as downtown life dwindled to calm streets and white picket fences. The sky was a messy blend of oranges and purples, giving way to the last rays of day. She fantasized about warm showers and mindless sketching when Marcel took a wrong turn. Instead of forestry, they drove through the high-end neighborhood of Mystic Falls. Families like Lockwood, Salvatore, and Fell all had their ancestral homes in the area.

Hope sat up, scanning the glamorous houses. She barely managed to conceal the trepidation shaking her.

Marcel noticed her discomfort, “We’re going to the Mikaelson manor.”

Yeah, no shit. A high-pitched laugh escaped her while her hands trembled, “Since when am I, the _bastard_ , allowed in there?”

“Since Mikael is dead.”

The words hit her like a gush of cold water. Although the man’s been dead for two days now, nothing in her life changed—wildly anticlimactic. She was still the illegitimate daughter of Klaus Mikaelson, the shame of the family. In their world, weakness meant death, and Hope’s existence was a blow to their reputation. No wonder her mom kept her away from them to her last breath.

***

The manor was the biggest house Hope had ever seen. Her short legs struggled to keep up with her dad’s stride as they wound through lavish hallways with more rooms than she could count. They walked by towering double-doors leading to a grand room. She was enchanted by sprawling murals of angels and the crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling; she thought it looked like a princess’s home.

She stumbled as her dad pulled her along. Strands of hair stuck to her face. She swept them out of her eyes—her palm smudged with soot. The green of her pajamas hardly showed through the layer of ashes covering her from head to toe. Two lone clean streaks were painted on her cheeks from her tears.

Her dad continued his march until they came to a foggy room. The first thing she noticed was the bitter smell in the air, her little lungs coughed to get rid of the smoke but only made it worse. She would’ve mistaken the place for a very fancy living room it if weren’t for the desk where a man sat on a huge chair. Above his head, a portrait of an angry blond man looked down on her—it was so big it almost took the whole wall. The carpet muffled her steps as they came to the foot of his desk.

It was hard to see in the dim lighting, but a lit stick poking from his mouth (Maya once called it a ciggy) enlightened cold, blue eyes. He rested on the chair as if it were a throne and the composure of a king.

She would’ve bowed if he hadn’t spoken first.

“What is this, Niklaus?” He puffed out a fresh cloud of smoke, voice deep and rough. Did he have a cold?

“This is Hope. She is to stay with us from now on, seeing as her mother can no longer attend to the duty.”

A sound between a laugh and a cough resounded from the man’s chest, “You dare defy me, boy?” Get this repulsion out of my house.”

“She is my daughter.” Her dad snarled, “She is a Mikaelson. I’m not asking for your permission.”

The man hardly moved. He fiddled with the ciggy, “This… child, she’d the progeny of that lawyer, Ms. Marshall, yes?” He hummed, twisted his lips into a sneer when he found the name disgusting, “What will Aurora say when she hears about your _bastard_? What will people think when they find out she survived the fire? The Mikaelson name will be doomed and it’ll be your fault.”

Her dad scoffed, “I give a rat’s arse about what people say. They’d be fools to shun us out of business.”

The man pummeled a fist against the desk. Shot to his feet. Her dad flinched, took a step back.

“They wait in the shadows for a moment of hesitation to tear everything I’ve built to the ground.” The man barked, frame wide as a boulder, “I will not allow it. Look at her, for God’s sake—you didn’t even bother to clean her before coming.”

Self-conscious, Hope rubbed the darkened spots on her skin. Her mom always said hygiene was important.

“If you’re so adamant about keeping your bastard, I shall give you two options: send her to an orphanage and forget she ever existed, or be her father and play family,” His voice dropped to a dangerous hiss, “And you’ll be removed from the will at once. If you want to lead an immoral life, you’ll do it far away from my company.”

Hope glanced between them, as if she did it fast enough, she’d understand what they were talking about. All she accomplished was a mild headache.

A long pause stretched, her dad grew restless and squeezed her hand hard enough to bruise. She sensed this moment was important—the tension was palpable—but her nine-year-old brain could not comprehend its magnitude.

The man brought the ciggy to his mouth, its glow danced in the silver ring decorating his middle finger. Hope watched, entranced by the pretty orange when he turned his narrow, unblinking eyes on her. They were the same shade of blue as hers, yet all she felt was malice in them.

“She may have Mikaelson blood, but she’s not one of us. And she’s no granddaughter of mine.”

A shiver ran down her back. She tried to cling to the warmth radiating from her father, but his grip weakened. His face contorted with a regret so deep he looked like he was drowning. She stood alone under the cold gaze of the man with her heart fluttering in her throat.

“Dad?”

Klaus clenched his jaw, eyes firmly set on the ground. Hope felt a barrier settle between them, and if she reached out, she’d run into it. He turned away. The terrifying reality of being alone washed over her, like the time she wandered to the candy section at the supermarket and lost her mom.

She just wanted her mom.

The door slammed open, “Sjef! There’s a—Oh, Mr. Mikaelson, you’re back.”

A tall, young black man stood under the threshold. His chest rose and fell as he regained his breath.

“Marcellus, take the child to the shelter downtown. Make sure they don’t ask too many questions.”

“Wait,” Klaus said, his features lit up with an idea as he studied Marcellus.

There are rare occasions in one’s life when a single decision has the power to transform their every day—it can be choosing a college or accepting a marriage proposal. For Hope, it was clinging to her father’s unattainable love.

“What if she worked for you?”

***

The manor’s entrance mesmerized all visitors with its marble pillars stretching three stories high. Light filtered through tall, paneled windows that enveloped the house in an ethereal glow. Arches of water sprinkled the mighty expanse of gardens to keep them fantastically green. Hope imagines this was how artists pictured Olympus.

Marcel followed the roundabout and parked in front of the mansion. Hope could count in one hand the number of times she stepped inside, and every time she was punished.

In other words, she did not want to go in.

She dragged her feet behind Marcel through the wide, hand-carved door. The foyer smelled of roses and expensive fragrance, but it wasn’t pleasant in the least. It irritated her nose like someone left a strong candle burning all night long in a sealed room. She winced as her white sneakers squeaked against the polished floor and echoed in the grand hallways.

Once more she walked past the ballroom, though she no longer thought it was impressive or magical. It was scrubbed clean and scrupulously set up; it was a museum put in exhibition rather than a home, there was nothing warm about it.

When they came upon Mikael’s study, Marcel didn’t spare her a glance or told her why she was wanted. The uneasiness of being blindsided crept over her.

Inside, her father was sprawled on the leather chair whilst talking on the phone. His dark blond curls were neatly combed and his black suit free of wrinkles. His lopsided smirk cast a careless air about him that made it hard to tell if he was being serious. For all Hope knew, the threats he was shouting on the line were a mere joke.

The wall behind him was unusually bare, she noticed, for Mikael’s portrait was no longer there.

Good riddance.

The door opened once more, and Hope didn’t need to turn around to know who it was—the clicking of heels and obnoxious perfume were unmistakable.

Aurora de Martel strutted into the study and attracted every pair of eyes. Her hair was pinned in an elegant updo with a classy, yet modest, black pencil dress to match it—no doubt fresh off playing her role as the woeful daughter-in-law. She was heiress to the de Martel empire and her father’s wife (a beautifully dysfunctional marriage arranged by the devil himself, Mikael Ivarsson).

He had a knack for ruining the lives of those around him to suit his interests.

Aurora glared at her and Hope returned it with equal vehemence. The corner of her mouth twisted downward as she took in her dirty clothes. Hope knew she was biting back a remark, her green eyes never managed to hide her contempt, but withheld it as she placed a hand on Klaus’s shoulder to massage his tense muscles.

Hope stifled a gag.

Although their marriage was a business deal, Aurora truly loved her father. Alas, he never returned her feelings. At first, she thought a child would spark his affection, but he kept coming up with excuses to not have one. Eventually, Aurora’s frustration turned to Hope, she blamed her for not having children of her own and convinced herself she was the source of all their problems.

“Find that painting or your wife will miraculously find out about your weekend escapades with the secretary.” Klaus hung up the phone and with a scowl addressed Marcel, “Fire Emmett Hill at once. He’s absolutely worthless— _Red Judas_ is still missing from my studio.”

“I assure you, the culprit will be found and punished,” Marcel said solemnly.

Red Judas was her father’s magnum opus, the jewel of his kingdom. She remembered when he disappeared for seven days only to resurface with a call from Greece and the painting. He didn’t let anyone breathe near it, never mind touch it. Her skin crawled thinking about what he’d do to the thief.

“Hope, I see you’re… well.”

Klaus’s mischievous eyes settled on her. Hope stepped forward, hands carefully tucked behind her back, “Thank you, Father. I’m sorry to hear about the theft.”

“Don’t concern yourself with such matters,” He cooed, “I believe congratulations are in order—your performance at the gala was remarkable. If it weren’t for your quick wit and cunning, that old son of a bitch would still be sitting here.”

He erupted into laughter with the dramatic flair he injected into every little action. A smile ghosted Hope’s mouth. He snatched the bottle of whiskey on the desk and poured a glass.

“Cheers, my little girl.”

The knot in Hope’s chest dissolved. Her face begged to split into a grin she barely contained. Rarely did she allow herself to lower her guard, but the moment was too sweet to pass up.

“I wish that’s all I had to say,” Klaus stared at the thin ring of liquid still in the glass, his voice sharp, “Do you want to share something with the class?”

Hope froze, felt her heart plummet to the ground. Slowly, through the corner of her eye, she shot Marcel a poisonous glare. Just when she thought he’d taken mercy on her and kept the arrest between them, he stabbed her in the back. Her body rattled—she wanted to scream, to punch, to rip apart—

What did she expect? Marcel’s loyalty laid with her father. He was just there to watch her while in Mystic Falls.

No wonder he had a stick up his ass in the car—he knew he was driving her to a slaughter. And he kept quiet. Distantly, she heard Aurora’s mocking snickers and it only ticked her off further.

“I will not ask again,” Klaus growled, “Do you want to tell me something?”

Hope gritted her teeth as anger boiled in her veins, “Last night I participated in one of the Blowout’s challenges and got arrested by Sheriff Saltzman. I have forty hours of community service.”

Her father’s gaze burned on her face, demanding she looked at him. She couldn’t do it. She was on the edge of stomping out of the room and never looking back, if he saw her eyes, he’d know.

Steps resounded on the timber floor toward her. Hope stared at the shiny, black dress shoes. She suppressed a flinch as a cold hand raised her face. She was surprised to see concern and care on her father’s features, though she questioned how much of it was genuine and how much was a lie.

“Is that so?” He said, thoughtful. The two fingers cupping her jaw tightened. She bit back a whimper. Klaus sneered down at her, “Use that _brilliant_ head of yours and tell me what your idiotic adventure means for us.”

Her heart picked up speed, thrashing so hard it overwhelmed her ears. A dangerous blend of fear and anger. She pondered what he wanted to hear—accountability? A plan to fix her mistakes or for revenge? Her mind was unable to agree on a solid plan—

“I don’t—I don’t know.”

Klaus released her jaw and poured a generous second glass of whiskey. Hope watched him intently, with his back to her, she didn’t know what to brace herself for—a reprimand, or worse.

He downed his whiskey and set it back on the tray with a loud clunk, “How disappointing.”

“You not only disobeyed explicit orders but lost against a _Saltzman_. Remind me of our agreement.”

Behind her back, Hope’s hands twitched and scraped the sensitive skin, “You’d take me in and raise me as a Mikaelson, and I’d make sure to be worthy of the name.”

“Good. After last night, I thought you must’ve forgotten. It was impetuous, plebeian, and degrading—everything Mikael hated about you.”

_Stop_ , she desperately wanted to scream.

He didn’t hear her. He mercilessly tore down her heart, “You put my entire plan in jeopardy! Do you think I wanted to murder my own father?”

She forced her head to move side to side.

“Of course I did. That pig treated me worse than a dog. Yet I didn’t act on pure sentiment—we needed his power to get the company where it is today. But you’ve been too emotional,” Hope dug her nails harder, “At least you understand he didn’t care about our family any more, only his pursuit of power.”

No, she understood perfectly. Mikael lost himself in the ideal of creating a legacy that would transcend time, to the point his own family became pieces in a power struggle. Now, her father believed he’d be the one to bring the Mikaelsons together.

She didn’t see a difference between the two.

But if she didn’t belong with her family, she didn’t belong anywhere.

She’d be alone.

“Nonetheless, your arrest had a silver lining,” Klaus flopped down on the chair, a triumphant glint replaced his snarl, “Sheriff Saltzman slipped during his meeting with Marcel. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t believe Mikael died of old age.”

Hope was quick to follow his train of thought, “He’ll want to be the first to look at the autopsy.”

Klaus smirked, he lured her where he wanted, “That’s where you come in: in two days the coroner will release the autopsy. Destroy it—do not allow another soul see it.”

Hope’s head snapped up in disbelief, “That simple a task? You don’t need me for it, have Marcel do it.”

Marcel scoffed behind her, indignant because it was true. She was stealthy and devious as a snake, the perfect person for the job. But she was also their wildcard—nobody knew Klaus had a daughter, nobody watched her every move or expected the same level of loyalty from her as his siblings. They used her in extreme cases. Marcel, on the other hand, was raw power. He was her father’s right-hand man and carried out the dirtier jobs.

Klaus dismissed her, “Marcel will be occupied in the Mystic Falls festival, which I will be sponsoring this year.”

She nearly laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Klaus loathed small-town traditions for as long as she could remember. It went beyond normal dislike, it was passionate.

She refrained from asking too many questions, it could make her sound foolish. In the years after her mother’s death, she learned that questioning any Mikaelson, especially her father, brought dire consequences.

Acting like she supported their ideas, however, was fair game.

“Father, if I may—why host the festival? It would draw more unwanted attention to ourselves.”

“I’m counting on it,” He answered, “It’ll pull eyes away from the autopsy.”

“And it’s the perfect PR stunt to announce Klaus as the new CEO of Mikaelson Orlean.” Aurora chimed in. Her pretentious tone made her words sound like a half-truth.

Hope envisioned choking all air out of the woman’s lungs when her father cleared his throat.

“Hope, if you get this done, there will be no reason to keep you secret,” He said, “You’ll be a true Mikaelson like you’ve always wanted.”

She almost agreed right away—it was all she’d desired for a decade, ever since she was rejected by her own grandfather. It wouldn’t erase years of solitude or the torment of knowing her family didn’t want her, but it would make it worth it. Aurora’s grimace convinced her.

She rolled her shoulders and steeled her face.

_One last job_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> Follow me on Twitter for deleted scenes and sneak peeks ;) @liveskippy
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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